


translucency

by exbex



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Dissociation, Gen, Heavy Angst, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 02:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11476857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex
Summary: One could argue that the drinking is a worse coping mechanism than continuing to hide in the attic, but the drinking can be explained away easily by his status as a college senior in his last semester.When he wakes up the next morning, he’s laying on the bottom bunk, all of last night’s clothes still present, but missing any memory of the previous night.





	translucency

**Author's Note:**

> a) read this: http://garden-of-succulents.tumblr.com/post/162774413691/i-have-way-way-way-too-many-feelings-about-justin
> 
> b) got sad(der)
> 
> c) wrote this
> 
> sorrynotsorry as the kids say on the tweeter

Later, Justin will perhaps take the time to analyze the mix of ingredients that go into creating the sort of perfect storm that instigates his next bad decision. At the moment, they’re swirling around in his head, almost slotting themselves neatly into a spreadsheet. 1) He’s still smarting from not making playoffs, 2) He’s angry at himself for running away when Alexei freaking Mashkov shows up, 3) he knows he’s going to be chirped into next week, and 4) graduation is approaching like an express train. 

One could argue that the drinking is a worse coping mechanism than continuing to hide in the attic, but the drinking can be explained away easily by his status as a college senior in his last semester.

When he wakes up the next morning, he’s laying on the bottom bunk, all of last night’s clothes still present, but missing any memory of the previous night.

There’s a Gatorade and some aspiring resting on top of a note. “Brunch-Jerry’s” is written out in Holster’s enthusiastic scrawl. Justin doesn’t know if it’s a command, a statement, or a question, but he figures that the answer, much like the answer to most things in life, is a definitive ‘fuck off,’ and promptly stumbles to the bathroom, stumbles back to attic, throws back the aspirin and the Gatorade, and claws his way to the top bunk.

**

It’s 3:26 PM before he leaves his bed. The only one downstairs is Bitty, who takes one look at him and shifts into mother hen mode. Justin can tell by the way his eyes widen, then his eyebrows kind of knit together, that Bitty is about to offer his own brand of home-baked medicine.

“No.” Justin winces inwardly at how he sounds. He’d meant firm, but it comes out mean, snarling, especially the way it bounces around echoing inside his head. “I just…gonna get some water. Protein shake.” 

He throws some protein powder and almond milk and bananas together, loses the wrestling match over the dirty blender to Bitty embarrassingly quickly, (“Bits, I dirtied the blender I can wash it. “Rans, I’m going to be doing dishes soon anyway”) and shuffles back upstairs.

It’s almost muscle memory that makes him take out his notes and books and boot up his laptop as he drinks his smoothie. He’s missed class, but it hardly matters. It’ll be finals soon, and now is the time to start gearing up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his phone light up. Holster must have plugged it in last night at some point. There’s a slew of missed calls and messages, and Justin is suddenly jolted by the realization of the date and that he’d somehow forgotten that it was his birthday, even though they’d planned the kegster around both his and Lardo’s. 

There’s a sensation, then, of being out of place, as if he’s somehow slipped outside of his own body.

**

“Rans. Ransom. Justin.”

Justin blinks. There’s condensation on the desk, sliding down the sides of the glass that holds the remains of his smoothie. He sees the clock in the corner of the computer screen, 4:52. And then there’s Holster’s face in front of his, his mouth turned downwards at the corners, his brow furrowed.

“Bro. Are you okay?”

It’s a question Justin doesn’t have an answer to.


End file.
